


in the yawning space between us

by rarelypoetic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Love Confessions, M/M, POV Castiel, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarelypoetic/pseuds/rarelypoetic
Summary: Castiel has died enough times to appreciate that this might be the last time he gets to tell the truth.(coda to the ep where cas said "I love you" and destroyed us all - including Dean - in one fell swoop)





	

After all the times Castiel has imagined his mouth shaping the syllables, finally saying it aloud feels anticlimactic. He told himself he’d been waiting for the right moment, but in reality he’d been waiting for someone to make the choice for him - for someone to hold an angel blade, or spear, as it happened, and for the realization to dawn on him: _this is it. You tell him now or you die under the weight of it. ___

__So he tells Dean, “I love you,” and then realizes that that isn’t enough. Of course it isn’t._ _

__Dean’s face doesn’t seem to know what to do with the confession; he rapid cycles through bewilderment, denial, sorrow, and something that looks achingly like loss. Then Castiel looks at Sam and thinks absurdly _I would have killed you once._ Once, Sam Winchester was an abomination. Once, Dean Winchester was the defiant righteous man. _ _

__Now, they are his family._ _

__So he says, “I love all of you.”_ _

__It’s the truth. It feels like ripping off a bandaid. Probably. He’s never done that before, but he’s always found the metaphor interesting. From what he can understand, it means that to hurt quickly is to hurt less. The trouble is that it still hurts, all of it: seeing their faces, hearing Sam and Dean refuse to leave, the mix of regret and something almost akin to guilt pulling Mary’s face taut._ _

__In the end, none of them leave him. They have left before, true, but here, where it counts, they are staying. Castiel closes his eyes. This is what peace is. He hasn’t felt it in millennia._ _

__Then, the unthinkable: he lives._ _

__Castiel supposes he should be arrogant enough at this point to expect to live against all odds, even when he doesn’t (and hasn’t) deserved it since long before he ever stepped foot on earth. He has a habit of surviving when he’s not meant to._ _

__Dean should know this already, but when the Winchesters pull him to his feet Castiel can feel the shock rolling off of him in physical waves. Everything is pure sensation for a moment as Castiel regains his bearings. He registers the heat of Dean’s hand in his own, the reassuringly solid grip of Sam on his other side, the brief touch Dean brushes across the back of his neck as he gets used to standing upright again._ _

__Going from the brink of death to fully healed is always like whiplash, angel or not. Castiel finds his center of gravity and looks around at his found family._ _

__Dean’s smile is worn around the edges. “Let’s go home.”_ _

__They do.  
-_ _

__Walking into the bunker later that night is different in some subtle way that Castiel can’t immediately parse. He watches Sam and Dean sling their duffels to the floor and shuffle around the war room drinking coffee (and beer) and watches Mary retire quietly to her own room before it dawns on him._ _

__This is the first time the bunker has felt like home._ _

__Or perhaps that’s not true. It has felt like home before, but it’s never been _his_ home to claim. There was that time once, when Sam was possessed, when he’d thought-- _ _

__It doesn’t matter. The bunker is the Winchesters’ home, and he is a Winchester in all of the ways that count. He may not believe it tomorrow morning morning, but he believes it now, standing here, remembering the look on Dean’s face when he’d called him _family_. _ _

__Eventually, Sam goes to bed. He leaves his empty coffee mug on the table, which gives Dean the excuse he needs to launch a minor tirade against his _gigantic, sloppy brother who can never seem to clean up after himself, Jesus Christ_. When he’s finally exhausted everything there is to say on the matter, Dean falls silent like a cassette that abruptly ran out of tape. _ _

__A silence settles. Castiel shifts on his feet and takes the opportunity to observe his surroundings. He knows what the bunker looks like, of course, has been down every dim corridor and looked through nearly every dusty book in the library. But now when he looks around he doesn’t see a collection of magical items and useful artifacts; he sees the components that make up a home: a pair of muddy boots shoved off into the corner, a discarded gardening magazine left half-open on the counter, a half-full box of tea packets that Dean has teased Sam for on more than one occasion, and an old coat. Dean’s coat. Not leather like that one he used to wear like armor around himself. Form-fitting, navy, thick fabric. Practical._ _

__Castiel fingers the cuff of his own trench coat, also practical. Then he shrugs his shoulders out of the fabric, one by one, and lets it slide down to his wrists. It’s like shedding a layer of skin. He undoes the cuffs and folds the trenchcoat over one arm, the way Dean had done when he’d taken it out of the Impala’s trunk and returned it to him so long ago. Then he changes his mind._ _

__The trenchcoat ends up draped over the back of a chair, his black suit jacket quickly following it. Another layer gone. Castiel breathes. Dean is staring at him._ _

__“You staying?”_ _

__The words come out sounding far more vulnerable than Dean probably means them to sound. Castiel nods, wordless._ _

__“There are still things to resolve, but I can work on them and still live here. This is...” The rest of the words get caught somewhere in his throat. Castiel’s mouth hangs open as he searches for the rest of the sentence._ _

__Dean saves him. “This is your home, Cas. Now, always. And it’ll be here waiting for you no matter how long you have to be away.”_ _

__“Thank you, Dean.” It doesn’t feel like enough._ _

__Dean shrugs like he’s too big for his own skin. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s-- it’s what you do for family.”_ _

__“Still, you didn’t--”_ _

__“Why did you say it?”_ _

__Castiel stares at him. He wants to say ‘what?’ But he knows. He knows. Dean has gone tense all over, suddenly, like he’s been holding back the question for so long that it nearly shook him apart._ _

__“Because it’s true. Because you deserved to hear it.”_ _

__“And after everything,” Dean swallows, looks away, “you mean it?”_ _

__“Of course.”_ _

__Dean laughs, but its humorless. “You know, I used to think angels didn’t have the equipment to care. Used to think no matter how much I wanted you to, you’d never...” He slumps. “I’ve been wrong about you a lot, you know?”_ _

__“I’ve been wrong about you, too,” Castiel replies._ _

__“No,” Dean says wearily. “You haven’t. In the beginning, when we met, you were right to think I would fuck things up. I did. Cosmically. On more than one occasion.”_ _

__“Yes, but you are human. Humans have the freedom - the _privilege_ \- to make mistakes. I’m an angel. What’s my excuse?” _ _

__“Are you kidding me, Cas? You’re more human than most of the humans I’ve met. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”_ _

__“Then so are you,” Castiel challenged._ _

__“Then we’re a matching pair of idiots, I guess.”_ _

__Castiel smiled, small and quiet. “Idiot or not, I’ve always had faith in you.”_ _

__Dean barked out a laugh. “Well, you shouldn’t.”_ _

__“Do you think so little of me,” Castiel says carefully, gravely, “that you think I’d love a man I didn’t believe in?”_ _

__Dean’s breath leaves him in one gust. “Don’t say that.”_ _

__“I love you,” Castiel says again, just to drive the point home._ _

__Dean blanches. “You don’t know what you’re... It’s not...”_ _

__“I know exactly what I mean.” Castiel can be patient, but he doesn’t like being underestimated. “And I know exactly how much you think you don’t need to hear it. But I will say it anyway, because it’s true and because I’m _tired_ of pretending otherwise.” _ _

__“Cas.” His name is plaintive, fond, and worn soft on Dean’s tongue._ _

__“This isn’t conditional,” Cas says. “You don’t have to tell me I’m family, you don’t have to love me back, you don’t have to try to live up to some impossible standard you’ve set for yourself to feel worthy of being loved. I love you because you are you, Dean Winchester.”_ _

__Then Dean’s face does a curious thing: it crumples. Cas has seen him in pain before, knows what sorrow looks like etched deep into the lines of his fragile skin. This isn’t that. This is something deeper, something Dean has buried under iron chains inside of himself for a long time now._ _

__Cas can think of no words to ease the turmoil he feels itching under Dean’s skin, so he relies on his third language: touch. Dean’s shoulders fold inwards underneath his palms, the breadth of him condensing into something smaller, softer, rounder. The space between them closes like a wound healing._ _

__Castiel fits his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and presses his nose into the juncture between his collarbone and shoulder, something he has never allowed himself to even think about doing before. In return, Dean’s fingers clutch greedily at the too-loose fabric of his white button-up. He’s never hugged Dean without the barrier of several more layers between them. He discovers, unsurprisingly, that Dean is incredibly warm and that being close to him makes Cas immediately flush in kind._ _

__“I love you,” he says again, because he can’t help it, pressing the words like a promise into Dean’s skin._ _

__Dean makes a small, hurt sound._ _

__“I love you,” Castiel repeats more firmly, daring someone to defy him._ _

__“How many times are you going to say it?” Dean grumbles, trying to sound light-hearted._ _

__“Until you believe it,” Castiel says. “And then as much as I want after that, unless you tell me to stop.”_ _

__“I won’t.” Castiel is close enough to hear Dean’s throat work as he tries to say something. “Tell you to stop, I mean. I think... I think I want you. To love me.”_ _

__This is one of the times when Castiel can be patient. He hums low in his throat, tilts his head lower to catch a hint of Dean’s heartbeat - rabbit fast, arrhythmic. He knows what it usually sounds like, and this isn’t it._ _

__“Cas, you’re-- you deserve so much better. But I want you to be happy, and if you think I’m what makes you happy, then I’m selfish enough to live with that.”_ _

__Castiel lifts his head. “Dean, you don’t have to endure the way I feel about you like it’s a burden. I can learn to be happy on my own.”_ _

__“Shut up,” Dean says gently. “I know that. Don’t you get what I’m trying to say?”_ _

__Castiel rolls his eyes. “Obviously I’ve misinter--”_ _

__Dean’s mouth is as warm as the rest of him. It tastes like nothing in particular, though maybe a faint hint of beer, but that isn’t the part that matters. The part that matters is Dean breathing a wet gasp into his mouth, pushing closer and closer like he can’t get close enough, slotting his fingers into the short hairs at the back of Castiel’s neck like he’s been itching to do it for so long._ _

__Dean is greedy, but Castiel is an angel. He wants everything. He tucks his fingers behind Dean’s ears and steers him into a kiss so deep he loses track of time for the first time in his existence. Some part of him that will always be foreign, always belong to the celestial and the cosmos, wonders how this - flesh against flesh - can feel so good. He’s been with another body before, and it was good, but it was skin-deep. It wasn’t the rolling wave of soul-deep contentedness that it is now._ _

__When they pull apart, Dean’s lips are red, parted. His eyes are so bright it hurts to look at him and think that Castiel has never seen him like this, never seen him truly laid open and bare of his own will. The closest he’d ever gotten was holding Dean’s soul in his grace. This is better than that. Castiel sees this vulnerable, achingly human side of Dean and falls, helplessly, even more in love._ _

__“Cas, I,” Dean licks his lips and smiles, small and a little shy. “I think part of the reason it’s so hard for me to do the whole ‘I love you’ thing is because I don’t feel like that really covers it. It feels like more than that. It feels like we’re, I don’t know. Like...”_ _

__“Like everything,” Castiel finishes for him._ _

__Dean’s smile gets wider. They’re on the same page._ _

__“Yeah, you big fucking sap.” Dean leans into him again, loose like he’s drunk, and presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You and me, us, this is it. We’re everything. _You’re_ goddamn everything, you hear?” _ _

__“Well, now I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Cas teases. “‘Everything’ is a very broad term, after all, and logistically--”_ _

__“I love you so fucking much it makes me a little sick.” The words are rushed, imperfect, gruff. But they’re Dean’s._ _

__“Everything,” Castiel echoes softly. “Okay. I think I’m selfish enough to live with that too.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this while sick at 3 in the morning a few days after the ep aired, forgot about it, and then found this rotting in my drafts. so here ya go. who else wishes there were more fics in cas' pov? 
> 
> feedback is <3


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